


Quarter After One

by auri_mynonys



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Dirty Talk, Ex Sex, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of Optimus Prime/Starscream, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Phone Sex, Pining, Reminiscing, Smut, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, mentions of Megatron/Starscream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 08:12:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18796426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auri_mynonys/pseuds/auri_mynonys
Summary: Optimus learns that getting drunk and calling your ex isn't a human-exclusive thing. Certain ancient ex-gladiator warlords can do it, too.





	Quarter After One

**Author's Note:**

> Sup I tripped and somehow fell into TFP MegOp hell, so here we are! The first of three ficlets I started based around Megatron and OP's relationship, such as it is.
> 
> Not gonna lie, this is 100% inspired by 'Need You Now' by Lady Antebellum. You're welcome for that visual, my friends. You could also apply Kat Cunning's 'Stay On The Line'.
> 
> Enjoy this smutty romp, friendos!

Optimus burst out of recharge with a gasp, a rush of coding catapulting him from fast asleep to wide-awake in the space of a klik. His HUD was full of flashing orange lights, his audial ringing with the ping of an alert:

**_Sleep Cycle: Interrupted._ **

**_Call incoming._ **

**_Line: PAXO713R1._ **

**_Line Designation: Personal._ **

Optimus frowned. Almost no one had access to his personal line. He reserved that number for his nearest and dearest: the kind of people who he wouldn’t object to receiving a call from at - he checked his chronometer - 1:15am Earth time. The kind of people who knew all his secrets. The kind of people who he’d want to call if he was dying.

A call on that line, at this hour, could only mean one thing: _emergency._

Optimus answered without checking the caller designation. “This is Optimus Prime.”

There was a soft rumble on the other end: a sound of surprise that seemed both dreadfully familiar and achingly foreign. Optimus blinked and turned up his audial sensitivity, waiting for a voice. “Hello?” he said. “Who is this?”

“Oh, Optimus,” said the caller reprovingly: vocals dark and cold and rasping like a metal blade drawn over stone. Optimus froze where he sat, clutching the edge of his berth. “You deleted my comm line, didn’t you? You’re breaking my poor spark.”

“Megatron?!” Optimus managed. It came out squeakier than he’d intended, hitting an octave his vocal range hadn’t reached since he was a newbuild.

Megatron laughed, in that same husky tone that still haunted Optimus’ dreams. “I suppose I ought to be comforted that you never blocked the number,” he said. He sounded contemplative and mellow, the words occasionally bleeding static. “Or was that merely an oversight on your part?”

“I… ” Optimus finally had the presence of mind to access security data, searching the feed on his HUD screen for signs of an encroaching attack. Nothing. No warships; no impending missiles; no tanks or unfamiliar lifeforms at the base’s door. “I never expected you to actually  _call_ again.”

“That makes two of us.” There was a loud clanking sound: the rustling of armor plates shifting as Megatron did. Where was he? Was he in his habsuite, pacing? Was he sitting on his throne, smiling darkly in amusement? Or was he laying on his berth right now, staring up into the darkness, thinking of what once had been? “Frankly, Prime, I wasn’t expecting you to answer.”

“Then why did you call?” Optimus asked. His joints were locked, his processor screaming that this was a trick, that something was amiss, that at any moment the Decepticons would be upon them…

The security arrays, scanned a second time, still reported nothing.

“I thought you might have left a message for me,” Megatron said. His voice really was full of static, glitching over the glyphs in peculiar places, like he’d been hit hard or -

Or like he’d been drinking.

“Something from Orion Pax,” Megatron continued, somewhat mournfully. “I was thinking of a greeting you left for me once - the day I fought and defeated Swiftburn in the ring. Do you remember? There was a good luck wish. _Whatever happens, whatever the outcome…_ ”

“ _Whether or not you are a hero to the crowd… you will always be a hero to me,_ ” Optimus said, his spark throbbing. “Yes, Megatron. I remember.”

“Mmm. Yes, that was the one.” Megatron vented, a shuddering exodus of air pulled out of his systems. “I’d hoped it would still be there. One last echo of Orion Pax. I miss my darling little archivist.”

Optimus shuttered his optics, hating the pang of longing he couldn’t fight. He was vulnerable and off-balance and he didn’t understand what was happening, why Megatron was drinking, why Megatron had decided to _call -_

“I don’t believe you called me in the futile hope an old message might replay for you,” Optimus said. “So what is it you  _really_ want?”

“Heh.” Optimus heard the sound of liquid and an intake swallowing. “You, of course.”

Optimus’ spark flipped. “I - _what_?”

“You heard me, Pax.” Megatron laughed to himself, a hollow sound. “Even the great Lord Megatron gets sentimental sometimes. I must be getting old.”

“We’re  _both_ old,” Optimus said - and he felt it, too, that age, that lifelong tiredness he couldn’t shake. “Too old to be calling one another at this hour.”

“Oh, is this an inconvenient time?” said Megatron. Optimus could picture his expression: red optics rolling towards the ceiling, lip plates pressed into a sharp, thin line. “Pardon my ignorance! I didn’t realize Primes were so busy at… whatever Primus-forsaken hour it is on this pit of a planet.”

Optimus swallowed a laugh. “I’m not _busy,_ it’s just - we’re too old to be calling each other like newbuilds after their first sparkbreak.”

Megatron huffed. He sounded a little like Miko just then - all feelings, no forethought. "I think you’re attempting to insult me,” he said. “Should I be offended, Pax?”

Optimus gave up and flopped back onto his berth, letting his joints relax as his legs dangled over the berth’s edge. “I didn’t say it to offend,” he said. “But if you’ve called just to tell me you miss me, well… you were the one who broke things off.”

“Was I?” Megatron said. He actually sounded _surprised_ , as if he was convinced Optimus had been the one to leave. “Odd. I’ve searched my memory files and none of them seem to include calling an end to our… relations.”

By the Primes, he was _ridiculous_. Optimus frowned up at the ceiling, tapping his fingers in a nervous drumbeat against his stomach plating. “Your attempt to extinguish my spark shortly after you stopped calling spoke for itself,” he said. “ _Eloquently._ ”

“Oh, please _,_ ” Megatron snorted. Optimus wondered again what it was Megatron was doing. He had to be in his habsuite; he wouldn’t be stupid enough to have this conversation out in the open, where anyone could hear him. Primarily Starscream. “I’m a gladiator, Optimus. Such petty battles as we’ve often had are mere courting rituals in the Pits of Kaon.”

“Petty?!” Optimus repeated, righteous indignation swelling in his chest. “We’ve both almost killed each other thousands of times! In what lexicon would that be considered _petty_?”

“Our little skirmishes? Don’t be silly, Optimus. I could wreck you any time I wish if I put some effort into it.”

Optimus scoffed. “I’d like to see you try.” His spark was pulsing hard inside its housing, but not out of anger. He was… happy? Yes. He was _happy_ to hear Megatron’s voice, _happy_ to be joking with him. Happy to know Megatron still thought of him like this, in the wee hours of the night, when the lonely dark finally caught up to him.

“You’re drunk,” he said after a pause. It was more accusatory than he’d meant it to be.

“I’m fine,” Megatron growled.

“You’re _drunk_ ,” Optimus repeated, gentler this time. “Why? What happened?”

Another sound of shifting and the clinking of a bottle, then a crash as it fell to the floor. “It… was not a good day. That’s all.”

Optimus turned his helm, forgetting for a moment that Megatron wasn’t right there beside him - that he couldn’t reach out and touch him, lay a hand on his cheek and ask what was troubling him. His fingers grasped at empty air before falling uselessly to the berth. “Was it Starscream?” he asked. “Or some other part of your plans gone awry?”

Megatron huffed, but didn’t reply, an uncomfortable silence his only answer.

Optimus sighed, wishing he could touch the warlord, or at least see his face. “Well, whatever happened, Megatron - whatever drove you to drink like this - I’m sorry. It will pass, as all darkness does. Things will seem brighter in the morning.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Megatron sneered. “You’re not going to sit on the other end of this line, safe and secure in your little base, and feed me some Primely inspiration to lift my spirits. I didn’t call you for that.”

“Then what is it you’re hoping to accomplish?” Optimus asked. Megatron had rarely allowed Optimus a glimpse of this kind of turmoil, even when they’d been together; for him to be  _this_ vulnerable, there must be  _something_ he wanted. “The message wasn’t waiting for you, and you’ve got me on the line now, still, despite everything. So?”

There was a lengthy pause, only the sound of Megatron's vents echoing in Optimus' audials. Optimus wondered if the warlord was laying the same way he was: legs spread, hanging off the edge of the berth, helm pressed against the wall. He could picture that huge frame taking up all the space upon an undoubtedly equally huge berth, one clawed hand laying over his spark... his optics locked upon his door like he was waiting for Prime to join him there.

Now  _there_ was a dangerous thought.

“I wanted to hear your voice,” Megatron said at last, through gritted dentae. “I… wanted you. Here. With me.” He paused for a moment, listening to the hitch in Optimus’ vents. “And this is easier and more practical than staging a kidnapping - though, make no mistake, the idea certainly crossed my mind.”

Optimus actually laughed at that, loudly: a genuine laugh that bubbled out of him before he could swallow it. “I’m afraid to imagine what you’d do to me if you succeeded in such a venture.”

“I have a _plethora_ of ideas.” Megatron’s vocalizer dipped into a purr, sending a shudder up Optimus’ spinal struts. “You might be surprised by how pleasant they are.”

“Oh?” Optimus kept his voice neutral, even as his spark leaped and glowed so bright it briefly lit his darkened habsuite. “If torture and death aren't on the menu, what is it you intend my fate to be?”

Megatron hummed a little note, sweet and warm and rolling through Optimus’ lines like high grade. “Playing coy, are we? That worked very well for you when you were a naive clerk, but as a Prime - a Prime whose seals I took myself - the attempt doesn’t hold up. I remember how you were, Orion Pax. I remember your debauched self panting and pleading for my spike.”

Optimus’ vents stalled _again_ , his traitorous valve tightening and lubrication systems clicking on. “What you remember of my berth habits is from centuries ago,” he said. His attempts at modulating his vocalizer were getting more difficult by the moment. “You don’t know what I’ve been up to since you left.”

“I imagine you’ve been busy riding your medic every chance you get,” Megatron said bitterly. “Or perhaps the little scout? He seems more your type, though awfully young for you - ”

“Are you jealous?” Optimus asked, amused. “Is that what this is?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Megatron snapped. “Jealous? Please. Any of my mechs would happily join me in my berth if asked.”

“The way I hear it, _any of your mechs_ is mostly Starscream,” Optimus said. He was making a mistake even posing the question, but he was… curious. Curious, and full of dread: because yes, even after millennia apart, the thought of Megatron with someone else made him flinch. “Though rumor has it he only submits to you to save his own spark.”

“Who told you that? Starscream?” A slosh of liquid as Megatron took another drink. “That mech has a deathwish. I'll have you know that _he_ propositioned _me_. At some point I was too revved up to refuse, to my eternal chagrin.”

“So you _have_ been fragging him.” Optimus couldn’t keep the note of disappointment out of his voice.

Megatron had the nerve to _laugh_ at him, as if he himself hadn’t spoken so angrily of Prime and Ratchet mere kliks before. “ _Now_ who’s jealous?” he chuckled. “Fair’s fair, Optimus. You ride your ambulance, I’ll take my jet.”

Optimus’ hand moved back to his stomach plating, drifting lower without his notice. “Who said I was fragging anyone?”

Megatron made a derisive noise in the back of his intake. “Don't try and play me for a fool, Prime,” he said. “You can’t seriously tell me you’ve not touched another mech in all these years - ”

Optimus stared off into the darkness. “I haven’t.”

Megatron stopped, the only sound his vents tripping over one another in a peculiar staccato rhythm. “I - _what?_ ”

“I haven’t been with anyone else,” Optimus said. He wasn’t sure why he was telling Megatron this; it was uncomfortable and embarrassing and it wasn’t his business anyway, damn him. It wasn't as if he'd gone abstinent willingly.

Megatron made a strangled noise. “No one has ever touched you… but _me_?”

Oh, no. He should have kept his vocalizer clamped. He could almost hear the sound of Megatron's ego inflating. “Well, yes, but it wasn’t a deliberate choice,” he said. “So don’t get any ideas.”

“Perish the thought.” He was smirking. Optimus _knew_ he was. He was smiling and arrogant and prideful and he was probably going to boast to everyone on his stupid, melodramatic ship that Optimus Prime had only ever fragged _him._ That no one else had ever seduced Prime like Megatron had. That Optimus loved his (admittedly _glorious_ ) spike _so slagging much_ that he couldn’t bear to frag anyone else.

Fantastic.

Optimus glowered into nothing. “It _wasn’t_ deliberate,” he repeated. “I have… duties as a Prime. Duties that I cannot set aside merely for pleasure. I’ve never had the spare energy for it, or when I did - well, someone once told me that having a Prime proposition you feels like a bad pornographic parody. I gather it dampens the mood."

All the warmth in Megatron seemed to dissipate at once. “So you’ve propositioned _someone,”_ he said.

Ah, right. That implication he hadn’t intended to let loose. “Once,” Prime said.  _Only once. Isn't that enough? You don't need to know the circumstances._

“I see.” Megatron adopted a placid, innocent tone - never a good sign with him. “The mech in question must have been… quite special.”

“Not as such,” Optimus said. Pits, he needed to end this. He was getting into awkward and dangerous territory. “It was an unpleasant incident for both Starscream and I.”

For an instant, time froze. Optimus realized what he'd said in slow motion, right as the designation slipped off his glossa. Horror and heat exploded through him as Megatron's vents ceased, a deathly silence descending.

_Oh frag oh frag oh frag oh no -_

Megatron vented pure steam, a barely contained hiss echoing in Prime's audial. " _What?!_ "

Optimus covered his face with his hands, wishing his berth would swallow him whole. "Megatron, wait, it's not - it wasn't what you're thinking, Starscream was just -"

 _"Starscream?!”_ Megatron bellowed. “You _propositioned my Second?!_ ”

Why, why hadn’t he just shut his mouth? Optimus snapped his battle mask up, as if it would protect him from his own humiliation. “Nothing came of it,” he said, muffled. “I wasn’t myself in the first place. Alright? Can we talk about something el- ”

“Absolutely _not,_ ” Megatron snarled. “Where and when did this occur, and why haven’t I heard about it until now?!”

Optimus’s intake clutched around the words, trying to squeeze them out. “It was nothing, really - ”

“And take your slagging battle mask down so I can hear you clearly, Prime,” Megatron snapped. “You can’t hide from me in there.”

Damn him to the pit. It was so _irritating_ dealing with a mech who knew him so well. Optimus let his battle mask slide back, shuttering his optics. “Fine,” he said. “But it’s… humiliating.”

“Yes, you wanting to frag Starscream _is_ rather embarrassing, all things considered,” Megatron said coldly.

“I _didn’t_ want to!” Optimus said. He was angry now and about ten nano-kliks away from cutting off the call entirely. “I tripped into a field of plants while Starscream was my prisoner and the plants’ pollen set off a false heat cycle. There, happy? That’s all it was.”

“What?” Megatron sounded surprised, and softer now, less angry than he’d been a few moments before. “When? Where?”

Optimus exhaled slowly. “A long time ago. Six, maybe seven centuries? Offworld somewhere - Myria-8HX, I think. Your soldiers were hunting a resource for a plasma weapon Shockwave was building, and we intercepted them. We managed to capture Starscream during the skirmish. I was returning with him to our ship with the intention of using him as a bargaining chip when I… ah… accidentally walked into a field of _Erotogenica_ plants. We made it maybe two miles further before the pollen took effect.” Optimus’ frame burned with humiliation, remembering how desperate he’d been, how loudly he’d begged while Starscream watched from the branches of a tree in a mixture horror and twisted delight. “I… was decidedly not myself after that.”

There was a long, long pause while Megatron considered this. “So... let me make sure I’ve understood this,” he said at last. “You visited another planet.”

“Yes.”

“You managed, like an idiot, to inhale an aphrodisiac... from a plant.”

Optimus ground his dentae. “Yes.”

“You then propositioned my _notoriously_ lascivious Second - a mech who almost _never_ turns down an opportunity for interface...”

"Apparently Primes don't do it for him," Optimus said dryly.

“... and somehow, despite all of these incredibly fortuitous circumstances, you  _still_ managed to escape miraculously unfragged?” 

Optimus’ faceplates burned so hot a heat shimmer obscured his vision. “That... is about the shape of it, yes."

Megatron's vents seemed to hiccup, and Optimus realized that he was laughing, laughing at Optimus and his predicament and the whole bizarre situation. “You are truly a wonder, Optimus Prime,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”

Optimus smiled despite himself. “Well, I do _now._ ”

They fell into companionable silence for awhile, the only sound the whir of their frames performing subroutines and maintenance as they rested.

“Pity,” Megatron said absently, more to himself than to Optimus.

“Hmm?” Optimus hummed, letting his optics flutter closed. “What is?”

“That it was Starscream who witnessed you aroused out of your mind and not me.” Megatron’s leer was so intense that it was visible behind Optimus’ closed lids. “It’s quite the pretty picture.”

Optimus’ optics snapped open, his spark stalling out in his chest. “I - well - ”

Optimus though he heard shifting, like Megatron was twisting on his berth. “I wonder what things you said to him in the throes of desperation," Megatron rumbled. "Perhaps he has a recording. I wonder... did you want to be spiked, or did you want him sucking you instead?”

“Megatron!” Optimus cried. The word was a strangled, incensed gasp as he glanced towards the door, as if someone might barge in at any moment - as if someone might overhear. “You can’t just - ”

"I imagine he refused, knowing what I'd do to him if I ever learned he'd touched you," Megatron continued. Optimus could picture his face: smirking that awful, wicked smirk, optics hooded and glowing with promise. "Or perhaps it was because he couldn’t give you what you truly wanted. The things we did together... he wasn't made for them. You liked it best when I had you in my lap, bouncing on my spike; clinging to my shoulders and sobbing into my intake.”

“ _Hnn -_ ” Optimus’ valve _squeezed,_ and a gush of lubricant slid down the tight channel. “Mega - !”

“It would have been a disappointing experience to try such a thing with Starscream,” Megatron said, relentless and slow. Primus, his voice was deadly. How had Optimus forgotten that? “He couldn’t have supported your weight. You knew that, I imagine, even under the influence.”

“I - I don’t remember,” Optimus rasped. “Megatron, what are you - ”

“Did you finger yourself?” Megatron said roughly. “Did you lay on the ground and pull your panels back and shove as many fingers as you could take into that pretty valve?”

Optimus’ channel clutched at nothing, a wave of heat rolling over his frame. His panel was burning, _he_ was burning, and Primus he hadn’t wanted someone inside him so badly in centuries. “ _Ah -_ Megatron, we can’t - ” he pleaded, pressing his thighs together even as he shoved his hand between them.

“Can’t… what, Prime?” Megatron purred. “I’m merely asking questions. You like to answer questions, don’t you, little archivist?”

“ _Frag,_ ” Optimus choked out, jerking up against his palm. He’d loved it in the early days when Megatron had called him that: _my little clerk, my archivist, why don’t you come sit on my lap for a moment…_

“Did you miss being called that?” Megatron asked. “Do you miss all the games we used to play? There was a favorite of mine - you know the one. I’d give you a datapad to read and have you crawl into my lap, and you’d sit there while I spiked you, trying not to let your voice shake as I drove you bit by bit to overload. Primus, I wish we could play that game again.”

 _So do I,_ Optimus though, his whole frame smoldering. His fans roared dully in his audials as all sensation focused in two places: his array, where his hand was still working, and in his audials, where Megatron was still talking.

“Hmm,” Megatron said. “Is your equipment the same as I remember? I recall a lovely little node that pulsed blue, then red, then white when you overloaded.” The warlord chuckled, low and dark, as good as a caress on Optimus’ body. “Did you show it off to Starscream? Beg him to put his glossa to it? Did you rub your fingers over it until you overloaded, until you gushed lubricant all over those vile little flowers that made you such a mess?”

Optimus’ panel snapped back, _loudly,_ and Megatron made a fierce, possessive sound. “Was that your panel, Prime?” he said. “Oh, _very_ good. You wanted to show off for me too, I gather.”

Optimus shoved the fingers of his left hand in his mouth to keep from moaning, even as the right hand fell onto his node and stroked it. His very circuits sparked at the touch, aching for more. “Megatron, please - this is - this is a _terrible_ idea - ”

“Oh, what’s the matter, Optimus?” Megatron asked, mock concern filling his voice. “I’m not making you _uncomfortable_ , am I? I’m certain the great Optimus Prime wouldn’t be getting charged up while listening to his mortal enemy speak about his interfacing habits.”

Lubricant dripped obscenely from Optimus’ valve, pooling around his aft as charge crackled over his big frame. “Megatron,” he said helplessly, pressing hard against his node. “I…”

"Oh, but how could I forget... it was you who popped your panel first," Megatron purred. "Four million years without interfacing must have put you in quite a state."

Primus, but it had. Optimus couldn't remember the last time he'd been this wet, this desperate: longing for an impossible stretch, the shivery sensation of every node inside him alight with the charge of Megatron's thick spike.

“Are you dripping onto your berth?” Megatron asked. “Are you rutting into your hand now, wishing it was my mouth instead? To think, Optimus: all this because you’re imagining what might have been if _I_ had been there to take care of you. How deeply and thoroughly I could have spiked you in the very field that cursed you, made you so wet and wanton…”

Optimus let out a desperate sound, his node flickering beneath his fingers. “I…”

“Don’t be shy, Optimus. Tell me how much you miss it. Tell me how you miss climbing up into my lap… spreading those perfect thighs for me and sinking down onto my spike.” Megatron’s voice had grown rougher, laced with static at its edges; and Optimus heard the distinct sound of a panel being drawn back. “Mmm… I remember you so vividly sometimes I can almost feel you squeezing down around me, trying to take all of me at o-once…” He stuttered and vented outwards, and Optimus’s processor flashed an image of Megatron spread out on his berth, hand on his huge spike, stroking himself to the fantasy he was spinning.

“Go on, Optimus,” Megatron said, ragged and hungry. “Touch yourself for me. Let me hear you moaning my designation while you imagine it’s me there fragging you senseless…”

Optimus _did_ moan, giving in and splaying his legs wide. Cool air kissed his valve as his free hand teased its soaking entrance. “Do you know what I miss?” he panted.

Megatron grunted, metal clanking as he jerked atop his berth. “Tell me. Tell me what you miss.”

Optimus bit his lip, dizzy and wet and aching for him. “I miss taking you after a fight in the ring,” he said. He worked himself harder, sliding a finger into the tight, wet channel. “I miss the way you smelled - _oh_ \- like energon and fuel cells and burning m-metal. I miss how hard and brutal you were bent over me like that… the full weight of your frame pinning me to your berth...”

“ _Optimus_.” The word was strangled, hot with Megatron’s arousal. Optimus could hear the slick sound of his hand squeezing his spike, stroking it in swift, sure movements. _Oh, let me see, let me look at it, Primus let me watch..._ “I’d do it again in a sparkbeat.”

“I wish you would,” Optimus said, over the scream of his fans. He was delirious with pleasure, shoving in a second finger and fucking himself with abandon. “I think about it sometimes. After a battle with you. I  - _ah -_ I catch your scent, and I’m there again, in your berth, feeling it bite into my back… your spike buried in me in one swift stroke…”

“ _Optimus!_ ” This time his name was gasped out _loudly,_ a keening cry from the warlord that was as good as begging. Optimus groaned and pushed his fingers deep, pressing his other hand to his node. It had kicked up to red already, pulsing like a little strobe light.

“Do you think about it?” Optimus gasped. “Do you - do you ever think - after fighting me - ”

“About pinning you to the ground and fragging you until you scream?” Megatron snarled. “Yes. Yes, _yes,_ I do. Every damnable time. You’d take my spike so much better now than you did then, you’re so much _stronger…_ can you imagine, Prime? We could go for _hours._ ”

Yes, Optimus could imagine _very_ clearly, and that was the problem: he’d seen it so many times in his own helm that he wanted nothing more than to make it real. “You used to hold back for fear of breaking me,” he said, clenching his teeth as a wave of charge crackled over him. “But you wouldn’t have to now. You could pound me so hard my plating dented and I’d be fine - ”

“ _Gh - !_ ” Megatron’s plating clattered as he jerked up off the berth, the frantic sound of his servo working himself up and up echoing in Optimus’ audials. “I want you bent over in front of me. I want you in the dirt, begging me to go harder. I want to be there when your vocalizer shorts out from screaming my designation again and again…”

Optimus shoved a third finger inside his valve. It made a slick, obscene sound as the three digits slid inside, transfluid gathering at the tip of his spike in preparation for an overload. “I want to taste you,” he growled, rubbing furiously at his node. “I want to get my mouth around you, I want my intake choking around you - ”

 _“AH -!”_ Megatron shouted so loud Optimus’ audials almost short-circuited. “Orion - !”

Optimus arched up off the berth as Megatron cried his original designation. “Megatronus,” he sobbed in answer. He was fragging himself so hard he was half convinced the others would hear him, even through the soundproofing protocols on his habsuite - but he felt so good that he didn’t even care if they did.

“You’d make a pretty picture on your knees,” Megatron hissed. “Mouth full of spike… _gh_ … moaning around me as you hilted me in your precious throat…” His engine revved loudly. “Ha, the last of the Primes, sucking my spike. _Pits…_ what an image.”

Optimus moaned, hips rising off the berth as he rode his own hand.

“Maybe I’ll get you on your knees in my throne room,” Megatron said. “Maybe I’ll watch you swallow my transfluid like it’s the finest high-grade from the best seat in the house. Or - _ha -_ or perhaps I’ll overload on your face. Cover every inch of your perfect frame in my transfluid…”

“ _Oh - !_ ” Optimus’ valve clutched at his fingers. He could see it as if it had already happened: his own frame, aching and sore and covered in transfluid, with Megatron above him, nipping at his throat. “Megatron - !”

“Would you like that?” Megatron said. “Would you like me to claim you so thoroughly no other mech would even think of touching you? Would you like to be covered in the scent of my transfluid, my essence? Primus, I want to see you like that. Thoroughly wrecked and pleasured, sprawled out in my berth.”

Optimus shuddered, back arching. His valve was clenching at more regular intervals, heralding an oncoming overload. “Then you’d best return the favor,” he said, working his node harder. “I want to straddle your helm and ride your mouth.”

“ _Nnnn_ \- !” Megatron’s armor clattered as his whole frame shook. “Yes, yes, Primus yes - I can reach your spike like that too. I’ll stroke you nice and slow, squeezing your whole length, while I lick and suck your node…”

" _Megatron!”_ Optimus cried. He was fragging himself so hard his own plating shook in turn. “Please - I want your mouth, I want - ”

“I like - _ha -_ I like to think the armor on your thighs would rattle while I licked you,” Megatron growled. “That you’d be bent over me, rutting against my mouth, demanding more. That you’d sit back and watch my face until you overloaded. That you’d t-taste yourself on my m-mouth - ” Megatron snarled, low and deep, the sound of his thrusts growing more erratic. “Optimus, Optimus, I’m going to - ”

 _“Yes!”_ Optimus all but shouted, shuddering. “Yes, please, me too, _Megatron I’m going to overload -!”_

Megatron _howled,_ a mournful, fulfilled cry torn from his vocalizer as overload took him. Optimus frantically fragged his valve, feeling waves of heat drawing closer and closer until at last he erupted, choking on Megatron’s name. Transfluid splattered across his stomach plating, his valve squeezing his fingers as his whole frame shuddered and then collapsed against the berth, thrown abruptly into total darkness.

Oh, Primus, that had been good. Wrong. Filthy. Guilt and docile pleasure mingled in a lazy sludge through his lines as he slung an arm over his optics, venting. He could smell his own lubricant on his fingers, still damp with his fluids. He wished he could smell Megatron’s, too, wherever he was. He wished he could see him panting and soft and satisfied, relaxed in his presence for the first time in centuries.

They lay there venting for awhile, fans whirring, still on the line with one another. It was… nice. Nice to hear his fans cycling down. Nice to hear his vents. It would have been nicer if he’d been there beside him; if he’d been a good mech, the mech Optimus once thought he was. But Optimus could accept this for what it was: a single call in the dead of night, when one was too lonely to sleep and the other too sentimental to hang up on him.

It was dangerous and it was wrong, and yet Optimus couldn’t bring himself to end it.

“Megatron,” he said quietly.

“Mmm?” Megatron’s vocalizer crackled, as if he’d almost been asleep.

Optimus hesitated, running his hand through the splatters of transfluid on his frame. “You should bathe and sleep. And get some medical grade. You’re going to have quite the processor-ache in the morning.”

“What are you, my caretaker?” Megatron grumbled - but he sounded pleased. “I know how to nurse a hangover, Prime. This is hardly the first time.”

The silence stretched on for a long moment. “I… should say good night,” Optimus said.

“I don’t want you to.”

Optimus frowned. “What?”

“I don’t want you to hang up.” The words were spoken flatly, like it pained Megatron to confess: but the desperation in it was undeniable.

Optimus closed his optics. His spark _hurt._ He was exhausted and hungry and fully satisfied and yet he ached, ached for something he could never have again. “We have to hang up sometime,” he said quietly. “We can’t just… we can’t stay on the line forever.”

“Why not?” Megatron said roughly. “Stay, Orion. Recharge with me.”

Optimus choked on a mournful sound. “You know we can’t do that. We _can’t._ ”

“Optimus.”

“Megatron - ”

“ _Optimus._ ”

Optimus struggled to be sensible, to let Primely wisdom lead the way instead of post-interface coding - but he didn’t have it in him. Not tonight. “You could try saying _please,_ ” he muttered.

“Please.”

Optimus froze, optics snapping open. Megatron had _never_ said ‘please’ to him before, never - not when they were first together, not when he was Megatronus and Optimus was an archivist. Never. “I - ”

“Please, Orion Pax,” said Megatron, so softly Optimus almost wasn’t sure it was him. “Stay with me. Help an old gladiator rest easier, just for tonight.”

 _This is not a good idea,_ Optimus thought, dread filling his spark. _This sets a bad precedent, this - this is_ **_dangerous._ **

“Alright,” he said to Megatron, staring into the dark. “Alright. Just for tonight.”

“Mmm… there’s a good Prime.” Megatron shifted, metal clanking as he got to his pedes and began to walk unsteadily. “Washracks first. Are you coming?”

Pulled inexorably to his feet by the commanding tone of Megatron’s voice, Optimus stood and snapped the lights on in his habsuite, blinking in the sudden brightness. Everything was the same as it had been when he’d gone to sleep, and yet the whole room felt profoundly different… as if a catastrophic shift had occurred while Optimus had laid there. As if he’d been hurtled somewhere else, to another time, another world.

“Prime?” The washracks were already running wherever Megatron was, the sound of steam and foam echoing in Optimus’ audials.

Optimus smiled, soft and pained, his spark stinging with an ache he didn't dare name. “Yes, Megatron,” he said. “I’m coming.”


End file.
